Human Error
by Clis
Summary: It's been two weeks since John Watson's passing, and Sherlock has never been the same since. Cute Johnlock one shot!


It had been two weeks since John Watson passed away, and life became very different without him- especially for poor mister Holmes.

Within all of their years of solving London crime together, Sherlock had never thought that he'd be able to hide his affection for John for so long, but he did, and he had regretted it right away once he heard about John's passing.

It was a simple death. Not what you'd expect to happen to a doctor and soldier. John had been walking home from the market a Tuesday afternoon, bringing home some supplies that Sherlock had requested for their next case, when he was struck by a taxi. The cabby was apparently distracted on the phone, and accidentally ran a red light. Little did he know that mister Watson was in the midst of crossing the road to return to 221B Baker Street during the time.

The impact was enough to kill John within minutes of the incident. It was a horrid sight. The poor man lay in an abnormal position in the middle of the road, gasping for air as he bled out; the supplies scattered around him. Several folks called for an ambulance, but it was too late by the time help arrived. There was nothing more they could do besides put the poor man's lifeless body on a stretcher and drive him away from all of the commotion- and call Sherlock.

John was easily known from a distance as Sherlock Holmes' sidekick, and Sherlock Holmes was easily known from a distance as one of the most popular men in town. Together, they were a very popular duo, and with this, the paramedic knew exactly what number to call when evening came around.

Sherlock had been in the midst of staring at the wall in his flat- the one with the smiley face- as he sighed impatiently at John's delay of arrival. He was too caught up with his nicotine patches to worry much, though. John was a soldier, and he knew that. John had gained much practice by being Sherlock's sidekick- _his friend_- and he knew that there was now not much that John couldn't do on his own. He could shoot a gun without any doubt of missing his target, run faster than most, and even find his way back home after dark, wherever he was in the city. John made mistakes, learned from them, and grew stronger.

Unfortunately, being hit by a taxi wasn't one of them.

Mrs. Hudson had answered the landline first (of course), and nearly fainted at the words on the other end. She tried to act strong, but it wasn't a secret that John had found a special place in her heart as well as Sherlock's. Her voice cracked as she barely made out an "_okay, thank you, dear_" to the paramedic on the other line, and within moments, she was in full on tears. Not only because John's death was traumatizing, but also because she had to tell Sherlock the news, which would break her even more. John had been Sherlock's sidekick; friend; partner; and over the past few months, she had noticed that he might've even been something else. Sherlock's heart would certainly shatter, and she was the one who had to be sure of it. She cried even harder.

Once Sherlock heard the sobs from upstairs, he sat up, concerned, and cautiously walked down the stairs. Was it Mrs. Hudson? A neighbor? A lost stranger passing through? Either way, he was bound to find out as he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

Surely enough, in the corner beside the landline, was Mrs. Hudson, sobbing, her face buried in her knees that she held to her chest. Immediately, Sherlock knew that something was wrong, for he had never seen her so heartbroken before. He walked up to her, being sure as to not to startle her, and gently sat down beside her. "Mrs. Hudson?" He asked, his voice abnormally soft and concerned. It was rare to find Sherlock in such a state, but Mrs. Hudson always had VIP access. "Mrs. Hudson, what happened?"

For minutes, there was nothing but sobbing and tears as a response. Whatever it was, it had surely torn her to pieces. Finally, she gained the courage to speak. "S-Sherlock…" She began, her voice shaky and small. When she looked up, Sherlock jumped a bit. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks were soaked with tears, and her lips quivered from trying to hold back even more tears. Now not only was Sherlock concerned, but he knew that something _big_ had happened; and it had to do with him. "Yes, yes. What happened?" He asked, his words quick and dry. Mrs. Hudson just shook her head and looked back down again.

"Mrs. Hudson, I need to know what happened!" Sherlock said, louder and stricter than he had intended, as he stood up. Mrs. Hudson looked up immediately as a reaction, and must've been able to tell that Sherlock was growing very impatient, because she then wiped her tears away without question and stood up after him. She swallowed, trying to get a hold of herself, as she rested a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock, dear," she closed her eyes and stifled a sob. "It's John. There was an accident. He's _dead_."

And that's when everything stopped.

Sherlock was sure that he must've heard her wrong. "P-pardon?" He asked, blinking rapidly, struggling to keep his balance. More tears slid down her cheeks as Mrs. Hudson just nodded her head in response. "_I'm so sorry, dear._"

Sherlock began to pace the room back and forth. This couldn't really be happening, could it? But why would Mrs. Hudson lie to him about something like that? Usually, Sherlock would've been able to keep a good grip on his emotions during a situation like this, but this time, he didn't even bother. He stopped walking, stood still in the middle of the hall, and stared off into the abyss as tears began to slip down his pale cheeks. To put it simply, Sherlock was in major shock.

How could it be possible that John was dead? How could he have died while buying _supplies_? It was all too much for Sherlock to handle. He couldn't think, just feel- feel his heart shattering to pieces, his cheeks growing wet, his lips quivering, and the panic and confusion that arose within him. The emotions were all too much to handle, and with that, he forced himself to climb up the stairs and lay back down on the couch, and closed his eyes.

_Oh John… _He sniffled, trying to get a hold of himself. _John… How? How the hell- what the hell happened!? _ Sherlock tried to do what he did best- to think; to analyze; to make sense of things- but he simply just couldn't this time. Instead, he allowed his mind to slip off into one of the many memories that him and John shared together, being too tired to do anything else.

* * *

_It was Valentine's day- only a couple of days after John and Mary had broken up for good after finding out that Mary was cheating with another man, and that the baby wasn't his. John was heartbroken, and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to make him smile again. He made him his favourite tea, took him to his favourite restaurant, and even insisted on helping him write his next article for the blog, but nothing seemed to work. That was, until the evening of February 14__th__, 2013, when Sherlock came up with something brilliant. _

_John had always wanted a bird. "Nothing too fancy," he'd tell Sherlock, "or noisy. Just something to keep us company." He found it a little odd that John had thought that a bird would be better company than a cat or dog, but he never really questioned it. So, that evening, Sherlock had gone to the park and caught a robin (because buying a bird, he found, was a waste of money). Surely enough, he brought it back for John, and set it down on the coffee table. "Sherlock, what is this?" John asked, tilting his head in confusion at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled his smart-ass smile, and motioned his hands towards the confused bird. "A robin. You did always want a bird, correct?" _

"_Well, yes, but where's its cage? And why now? We don't have time to take care of a bird, Sherlock! For heaven's sake, the thing could be poisonous for all we know!"_

_Sherlock smirked. "It's not _poisonous_, John. Wouldn't I have known if it was by now, from holding it the whole way back from the park? I thought that maybe it could cheer you up a bit. And we don't need a cage; it can just fly around!" _

_And surely enough, that's exactly what the bird did. Out of the open window, that is._

_Sherlock's face grew red with embarrassment, and John just shook his head at him. "Seriously? Seriously, Sherlock? Was that really necessary?" _

_Sherlock shrugged innocently, and grinned. "Apparently we weren't its mouth of worms."_

_And with that, John couldn't help but chuckle and hug Sherlock. "Thank you for the effort. I really appreciate it." And with that, he planted a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips._

* * *

Now, Sherlock was still just as shattered and confused, even after standing at John's grave two weeks later. Little did most know, that John had been more than Sherlock's best friend. That February evening, he had found out that John was his soul mate. Of course, the feelings that Sherlock had for John were always there, but he wouldn't have ever guessed that John would eventually feel the same way.

It was a cold and dark November evening, and Sherlock was almost certain that the flowers would wilt within no time at all, but he placed the bouquet on John's grave anyways. He stood in front of it, staying silent for a while, trying to hold back tears, but eventually began to speak once it became too cold to stay out much longer.

"John…" His voice cracked. "John, my dear John…" He sighed, wiped a tear away, manned up, and continued to speak to the marble stone. "Listen, John, I wish that I could make this speech all long and fancy, like the one that I owe you for your wedding day, but as you already know, that's really not of my fancy, and- well, to put it simply, I suck at speeches, but I'll try extra hard this time. Because, this one's just for you, right?" He chuckled stiffly, then continued, adjusting his scarf to protect himself from the cold winds. "You were a good man, John." He couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. "A really good one, in fact. I never thought that we would've grown so close, just to be so torn apart. I can't-" another tear rolled down his cheek. "I can't lie to you anymore, Watson. So here it is, straight up: I loved you, John. So much. And life is so _difficult_ without you here. Yes, yes, call me selfish, but it's true- well, obviously it is, since I'm just speaking all truth here, but anyways…" He sighed, watching as his breath flew off into the wind. "We have a lot of memories together, John, but I wanted to make one more. Unfortunately, I never did get the chance, and I regret it _so_ much. However, better late than never, right?" Sherlock reached into the back pocket of his coat, and pulled out a small, black box. He held it up in front of him, turning it over in his hands anxiously. "You did so much for me, John, and I couldn't let myself die without doing something for you in return." He bit his lip, then wiped more tears away so that he could see better. Then, he kneeled down in front of John's grave, and kissed the black box before setting it down beside the flowers. He opened up the lid, and buried the bottom of the box with some dirt to be sure that it wouldn't tip over in the wind. Sherlock then set a hand on top of the gravestone, and forced a small smile. "I made sure that it'd fit perfectly. It would've looked really nice on you, y'know." He kissed the cold marble stone gently. "I love you, John Watson, and it'd be a privilege to be your beloved husband. Will you marry me, John?"

A couple of moments of silence passed before Sherlock hopelessly looked towards the stars, and began to sob, hard. "What am I thinking!?" His voice was loud now, and almost sounded guilty. "I'm so sorry, John. I'm sorry. I should've done it sooner. Please forgive me. Please. I love you so much, John Watson. I love you, I love you, I love you…"

Sherlock cried with great grief for a couple of minutes before standing up in front of the grave again, staring at the gold engagement ring. Sniffling, he straightened out his scarf and coat, took a deep breath, and brought back his neutral expression to his face. He felt embarrassed after what had just happened, but no matter how hard Sherlock tried, he just couldn't seem to get a hold of himself anymore. It seemed as if only one thing remained.

He stared at the grave. "Human error, John."

"Human error."

* * *

**AN: Well, it's a little messy, but isn't the worst for my first Johnlock fic. I'll probably end up editing it a bit here and there, but otherwise, please favourite, follow, share, and review! :) Well, if you want to, that is. But please, if you have any suggestions whatsoever, let me know! I'm open to anything that might help to improve my writing. :)**


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